


Changes That Once Were A Dream

by embroiderama



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-19
Updated: 2010-01-19
Packaged: 2017-10-06 11:38:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/53278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/embroiderama/pseuds/embroiderama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jeff buys a new house, but he has more trouble buying into his own good press.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Changes That Once Were A Dream

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for [](http://www.livejournal.com/userinfo.bml?user=caairose)[**caairose**](http://www.livejournal.com/userinfo.bml?user=caairose)'s [Jeff, Jared and Just About Anybody Else Fic Challenge](http://caarirose.livejournal.com/628962.html). **This is NOT part of the Truth 'Verse**, just a stand-alone story. Thank you to [](http://missyjack.livejournal.com/profile)[**missyjack**](http://missyjack.livejournal.com/) for the beta!

"You see changes that once were a dream  
Begin to come around"  
Jackson Browne

~~~

Jeff looked around his new house, breathing in the unfamiliar scent of it. With the interior barren of furniture and decorations, it seemed even larger than it was, glossy wood floors extending out around him like a dance hall. The click-clack of Bisou's toenails on tile echoed in from the kitchen and winter sunshine streamed through the curtainless windows.

Just a few years ago, he'd figured that the only way he was ever going to leave his comfortable little house was if he had to sell it and downgrade back to an apartment or move in with a buddy. The smartest thing he did back when he was making good money from _Burning Zone_ was paying off the mortgage. Owning the place free and clear was the only thing that kept him afloat sometimes in the lean years when he just couldn't seem to get his career back on its feet no matter what he did.

There was a lot a person could get by without. New clothes weren't important when, as far as Jeff was concerned, grunge never went out of fashion. Food was necessary--rice and beans, coffee and hamburger meat, bags of kibble for the dogs. If the electric got turned off a couple of times, well, it was kind of like camping but a hell of a lot more comfortable with his own furniture and four solid walls with a roof. Especially when it was paying for the repairs to the leaky roof that made him miss payments.

He hadn't been sure there was ever going to be more than that. Too many days, he hadn't been able to convince himself that he deserved anything better. He was pretty much a fuck-up, after all--the guy who quit everything he might have been successful at and stuck with the one thing that wouldn't take him anywhere. He didn't like being somebody who thought that way, but it was hard not to, when every audition ended with a blandly smiling face and phone calls that were never returned.

Jeff wasn't an idiot. He knew that a reasonable man would give up on the pipe dream of making it as an actor, stop wasting his time and energy on bullshit, but the voice in his heart that Jeff thought of when somebody said the word 'God' still told him he was right where he needed to be. Jeff had been navigating by that voice for too long to give up in the face of some piddly-ass minor-league adversity.

Footsteps sounded on the stairs behind Jeff and he turned around to watch as Jensen came around the curve. His legs flexed, his knees kicking out just a bit as he jogged down from the second floor. The sun coming in through the arched window lit up the red and gold in his hair, and Jeff wanted to run his hands through the short strands, feel that warmth on his fingertips. "You know, I like seeing you in here." Jeff's voice sounded big and hollow in his ears, bouncing off the empty walls.

Jensen paused, a few steps from the bottom, his sneakers scuffing on the polished wood. "I like seeing you anywhere."

"I mean--" Jeff shook his head, rubbing one palm across his beard. "I don't know what I mean."

Jensen slipped down the last few stairs and stepped over to reach his hand around Jeff's waist, leaning in until their bodies pressed together from shoulder to hip. "What's going on?"

"I bought a new house, in case you hadn't noticed."

"I noticed." Jensen's fingers moved over Jeff's belly, the touch muffled by layers of cotton and flannel. "And I noticed you seem weird about it. Buyer's remorse?"

"No. No, I love this place. Get it decorated, warm the place up--we can have some killer parties in here."

"So...what has you all tied up in your head?"

"It's disturbing that you can read me so well." Jeff felt Jensen's hand move over toward his side, curving with the threat of diving in to tickle. "Okay! It feels like a little bit too much."

"Too much space?" Jensen's voice dipped low, rumbling comfort against him.

"Too much going right. I dreamed of so many things--more roles, better roles, money to help with things that mean something to me, money to live better. And that I get those things I dreamed of for years--so fucking many years--" Jeff reached out for Jensen's far shoulder, drawing them closer to face-to-face. "That I get all those things and then get to share them with somebody like you--I never even dreamed about that."

"Jeff," Jensen whispered.

"I'm not the kind of guy who gets this life, but if somebody's made a mistake I hope to God they never figure it out and take it all away."

"Shit." Jensen brushed his lips against Jeff's and pressed his tongue in against Jeff's, slow and so gentle. "It's not a mistake," he breathed against Jeff's jaw. He slipped his hands under the waistband of Jeff's jeans, pushing shirts aside until Jeff could feel the warmth of skin against the small of his back. "And nobody--" He kissed Jeff again, pulling him closer until every inhale pushed their bellies, their ribs together. "Nobody is ever taking me away."

The floor was hard, and Jeff's back wasn't as young as it once was, but he didn't really care. The keys chained to his belt jangled like a snare drum when they hit the floor, and Jensen landed on his knees with a thump. After that, all Jeff could hear was Jensen's breath coming into rhythm with his own and the smack-smack of skin against wood. When he came back to himself with his ass on the floor and his jeans around his ankles, Jensen's head was pillowed on his chest, and Bisou was licking the sweat from his forehead. He cupped one hand over Jensen's head and reached the other one back to scratch behind Bisou's ears.

He would miss the old house, but this--this could be his place now. This could be his home.


End file.
